


And Nectar Sweet

by mresundance



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) RPF
Genre: Domestic, M/M, Slice of Life, Stolen Moments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-11
Updated: 2011-09-11
Packaged: 2017-10-23 15:49:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/252100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mresundance/pseuds/mresundance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A love nest, a liberated jar of jam, and stolen time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Nectar Sweet

**Author's Note:**

> All lies. I know neither of these gentlemen.

"I liberated that jam," James said, coyly, from their accumulated nest of blankets and pillows on his unfolded sofa-bed.

From the kitchen, Michael said: "Liberated?" He turned the jar over in his hand. Though small, it was weighty, the glass thick and real, slightly rounded at the bottom and naked of any labels or wrapping. Morning sun glowed golden through the jar and chunks of apricot suspended in the jam looked swollen, fresh and delicious to Michael.

"From hippies," James straightened, half sitting, hair askew.

" . . . hippies," Michael deadpanned. He started moving from the kitchen.

"Bloody hippies at the farmer's market. I liberated the jam from them." James snatched said jam from Michael while he settled on the sofa-bed. He spread out on his side and James promptly backed into him, hooking one of his legs over Michael's and making a small, joyful sound.

"Were they very dangerous, these hippies?" Michael asked, clasping James around his stomach. James unscrewed the jar and, dipping one finger in, drew it back out, glistening and moist with apricot jam.

" _Extremely_ ," James titled his face back just enough that Michael could see his eyebrows waggling. He still smelled like sleep, like the whole previous day, lying together while James complained about _the disgusting London weather_.

"Of course it has to rain the weekend you visit," James had said into Michael's shoulder. "It's pissing out there."

"Mmm, yes," Michael had said, teasing the curled ends of James' hair. He didn't say the rain had dwindled to a fine spray hours ago. Or how the dim light kept brightening as the clouds thinned, making James' skin look warmer, his coloring richer.

"We can't go out there," James continued.

"We'd drown," Michael added and then guided James up for a lazy kiss.

"I suppose we'll have to stay in," James had said.

"Yes."

The second kiss had been so full of smiles and laughter it still made Michael ache, even now as James lapped the jam off his finger with sly, rosy swipes of his tongue.

"I didn't liberate it," James said, re-anointing his finger. "A friend bought it. I couldn't visit a farmer's market here. I'd be set upon by feral fans."

"It sounded like a good idea though. Liberating jam." Michael pressed into James. He pressed back, making that small, joyful sound. Some part of Michael did not know how he had lived a single day without hearing that sound, or without being the cause of it. Another part of him -- a dim, more distant one -- never wanted to spend another day without hearing it, without being the cause.

Michael sighed into the back of James' neck, feeling his warmth against his nose and face. James sucked the jam from his finger, slowly, the noise soothing in the drowsy, quiet afternoon.

"I don't want to go back to Los Angeles." Michael pushed his face deeper into James' neck; as if he were a blanket that Michael could bury himself in, hiding away from the world. From the way time moved forward without his will. Until an entire, luxurious weekend had already drained away, leaving only the precious dregs of an hour, a half hour, a quarter of an hour; so that Michael clutched time with almost the same ardor that he clutched James.

"You don't leave for another hour," James said firmly, screwing the lid back on the jar.

 _Then let's not waste a single second, ever,_ Michael thought, tumbling James onto his back. The jar fell with a heavy thud and rolled under the sofa-bed. In the evening, James would find the jar there and text Michael:

>   
> _jam rubbish w/out you._   
> 

But now Michael kissed him so that his lips parted and he made that sound and with each stroke of his tongue he tasted like ripe apricots -- of bright bursts of heat and nectar sweet.


End file.
